Resident Evil CODE: Veronica
by Gomi
Summary: Claire Redfield's luck is most definitely on the blink. Three months after escaping the horrors that were Raccoon City and she finds herself in a dank cell on a deserted island. Except it's not deserted. It's crawling with the dead and they're hungry...


**Chapter 1**

Claire Redfield couldn't remember what had happened. All she could recall was the cold of the cell floor rushing up to meet her… then nothing. She'd been dreaming as she lay there. Dreaming of what had happened back in Raccoon City… remembering the events that had come to pass. Meeting Leon Kennedy, the rookie policeman from the Raccoon City Police Department, then Sherry Birkin, twelve-year old daughter of William Birkin, the crazed scientist responsible for the virus that started it all. Umbrella's monsters… the zombies and creatures that were no longer human… it was all a blur, a distant memory that had long since settled into ashes along with the city. Her farewell to Leon had hurt, but she knew they'd meet again, when she returned from Europe. With her brother. Her brother, Chris, at last… Leon hadn't wanted her to go, but he had seemed to know how important this was to her, and didn't try to persuade her to stay as she boarded the plane to Paris. Which was where all this started… she bit her lip, wincing as her head throbbed painfully, trying to recall the memories. It was cold in the cell, cold and dark. Hard to think straight… this was the sort of place a child would imagine monsters hiding away, lurking in the corners, waiting until they fell asleep.  
_Or zombies.  
__Stop that_, she scolded herself, frowning. Umbrella, too, was a mere memory of a dark past that no longer mattered. She and Leon had both witnessed, first-hand, the explosion that rocked the underground facility three months ago. No way Umbrella was coming back from _that._ They had both nearly died, but had all the same been unable to stop themselves falling about in hysterics when they were safe inside the police car, going home. They'd looked at each other and simply laughed, and for a long time, couldn't stop. Claire sighed, drawing her knees up to her chest for warmth.  
_Umbrella are _gone, _get that through your head. You _saw_ the explosion, _saw _their facility go bye-bye…  
_How she wished she were still home… safe at home… with Leon, Barry and Jill… oh, but wait, hadn't Barry and Jill gone with Chris to Europe? Her brain didn't allow her to remember. Those three were all in S.T.A.R.S., after all, and were pretty close. Barry Burton was an ex-SWAT, their resident gun expert/maniac and supreme overlord of all cheesy lines. If anyone could be depended on to crack at the worst possible time, it was this guy. Then there was Jill Valentine, ex-thief and the "Master of Unlocking," as Barry so affectionately dubbed her. Chris had just recently escaped from an Umbrella mansion deep in Raccoon Forest with the two of them, so it didn't seem likely that they'd sit by and watch one of their comrades leave the country by themselves. Chris hadn't told Claire what it was he was going to do out there, in fact, he hadn't even told her he was leaving. She'd only discovered that he'd gone whilst trying to escape the city with Leon, where she'd found Chris' diary. Normally, she wasn't the type to snoop, but she'd made an exception just this once. Chris was her only relative. They were incredibly close anyway, but since their parents had both died, they'd become almost inseparable. Chris had taken on a fatherly role since then, just as a big brother should be. Claire blinked rapidly, keeping back tears. She was nineteen, still a child at essence. She needed her parents… needed Chris.  
_But Chris isn't here_, a small voice in her mind chided, _not right now. You have to take care of yourself. Get up and stand on your own two feet, girl.  
_Right. Gotta get up. She nodded firmly and shakily got to her feet, testing her balance. Her head still hurt, but it was more of a dull ache than anything. Not fatal. She waited a little while as her eyes adjusted to the total darkness of the cell block. Everything slowly came into focus, but was still very blurry around the edges. As though she were looking at an old photograph.  
_Standing in one, more like_, she thought dully. Past the bars of her cell, she could just about make out the outline of a desk, a chair… a set of cabinets… yeah, whatever… and a door to the left of the room. Unlocked, she supposed. Nothing she could use to get out of this God-forsaken place. Her cell door was obviously going to be locked, and it was very unlikely that there was a magic key lying around…  
_Maybe one of the guards will let me out for good behaviour, _she thought grimly, sagging against the back wall. Under normal circumstances, she might have laughed. She sighed inwardly and sat down on the cold, slate floor, trying to think.  
_Alright. You're stuck in a cell on some crazy island. Location, location, location… just great.  
_Sighing, she stretched her legs out in front of her, wondering absently how the hell she was going to get out of here. She was shit out of luck as far as defenses went. All she had was a bus pass and a few scraps of pocket lint. As she stared at the wall, idly watching a small insect crawl out of the decaying bricks, something roused her senses.  
Footsteps.  
In the corridor.  
Outside.  
Coming closer.  
Claire cursed and scrambled upright. Still too dark to see.  
_Lighter! Lighter, idiot!  
_She fumbled in her vest, then smiled as her hands closed around the small object. She didn't smoke, but her brother had given it to her as a present after he'd returned from Raccoon Forest. "For good luck," he'd laughed. By the looks of things, it was a _very_ lucky lighter. Wondering only briefly why the guards hadn't taken it from her, she pulled it out and flipped the top open. The flame ignited. An absolutely tiny light, but enough for her to see the room a little more clearly. The footsteps were slow and heavy. Had they been words, they would undoubtedly be slurred.  
_A zombie?  
_No. They weren't shuffles, they were human. Human footsteps, just… slow. Claire's eyes fixed on the door as the handle began to turn… opening ever-so-slowly… into blackness… a shadow stepping into the lighter's glow, illuminating his sweaty face…  
Claire gasped. Tall, well-built, dark-skinned… and those eyes. She'd have recognized anywhere. No doubt about it. He was the one who'd caught her in Paris and escorted her to this island. The same man who'd held her at gunpoint, threatening to shoot her. He was walking over to her cell. He still had that same gun hooked in his belt, Claire noticed. She stood her ground, staring at him. He was gripping his side with one hand, the other fumbling with her cell door. He wore a pained expression, like every movement was excruciating. CLICK. Her cell door swung open. Claire just stared, unsure what was happening. What the heck was he doing? Was it a trap? Was he going to shoot her? It seemed likely. No prison guards just strolled in and let their captives skip off, happy as Larry.  
He turned away without a word, limping over to the chair by the desk.  
Judging from the way he moved, he _was_ injured. Even in the faint light, she could see blood seeping through his dirty white shirt. She hesitated for a brief moment. He had a gun, it _could _be a trap. This man had tried to hurt her and there was no reason to assume he wouldn't try again.  
_Yeah, I'm unarmed_, her mind growled, _but not defenceless. I've got a lighter…  
_… God, she was delirious.  
He sank wearily into the plastic seat, still holding his side. He pulled something out of his pocket and cast a glance at it.  
"… Perfect," he snarled, throwing it onto the floor with a clatter. It rolled away from him, clattering emptily to the floor. Some kind of medicine bottle. He really didn't look as though he had the energy to shoot, let alone lift a gun. Claire cautiously stepped out of the cell and crouched down, scooping up the bottle and holding it towards the lighter so she could read the label.  
Damn those pharmacists with their unpronounceable ingredients. She could only just make out "hemostatic," which she'd heard before some place… college, maybe… hemorrhage… similar, both to do with blood? She couldn't be sure. She straightened up, still holding the bottle. He only spared her a small glance and jerked his head towards the door.  
"Get out…" he growled, voice thick and heavy. It seemed a great strain for him to speak. Looked incredibly tired, too. Forget bags, there were suitcases under his eyes. Claire walked towards him, tentatively. She was still wary of him - the memory of that sneer he'd worn and the glint in his eye wasn't easy to erase. Hungry, it had screamed...hungry for her, for blood.Not to mention theeerie eyeing.Looking her up and down, taking her in with a longing gaze.As far as she was concerned, he was a maniac. She stood over him and set the hemostatic bottle on the desk, staring into his weakened eyes. He looked so much different now, with that spark gone. Almost pathetic.  
"Leave, go, get out," he repeated, struggling to keep his voice steady.  
"… What?" she asked uncertainly, closing the lighter. She didn't want to waste the oil. It was looking to be her only companion for a while. Instantly, the room was plunged back into darkness.  
"Go… we're all dead anyway…" he mumbled, closing his eyes, "special forces wiped out… no chance." Then silence. Claire could swear he'd just fallen asleep. She watched him for a moment longer, contemplating taking his weapon, then decided against it and turned away. She'd leave him with his gun, she owed him that much, even if this whole thing _was_ a trap. Claire scanned the desk for anything of use, turning up a prisoner log file, with her name printed at the end. She picked it up and scanned the list. It appeared her mystery escort had a name, one "Rodrigo Juan Raval." She set the clipboard down and shuffled through the rest of the papers littering the desk, turning up a combat knife and not much else. It wasn't much, but she'd take whatever bones she could get.  
_And, hey, it'll do more damage than a bus pass, _she thought idly as she stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind her.


End file.
